Proflill(B Symbols of racism help define prof's mission Black Studies professor Darrell Millner uses his unusual collection to drive home the abstractions of race relations. by Cynthia D. Stowell He treasures every piece and he hates every piece. When he has emptied the cardboard boxes and the table is filled with cookbooks. banks, dish towels, art prints and swizzle sticks, he sits back and proudly surveys his ten years of collecting. Bul the items leer at him. Those faces repeated on every object, with their surprised eyes and big, toothy grim, seem to be saying, "O.K., professof, what are you going to do about us?" Darrell Millner has let no dust settle on his "symbols of American racism." The collection is used regularly by the PSU Black Studies professor to make the abstract notion of racism more graphic to his students. "In the early '70s, my students had a background in the '60s civil rights movement." said Millner, "but later in the '705, things that were personal and concrete to me were just abstractions to them. They were too young when Martin luther King was shot and weren't alive when Malcolm X was assassinated. So I started bringing these things to class and they opened up avenues of discussion in a dynamic way." But there is a moment of speechlessness when the collection is first revealed. It isn't easy to fathom the historical and cultural meaning of an Official Runnin' Nigger Target, Darkie Toothpaste (a British prcx:luct sold in Southeast Asia), or a broom in the shape of a "mammy." What motivates people to produce such objects and what kind of people buy them? "I can't answer thaI," says Millner. "Racism is nol a logical thought process. It's an aberration." Millner recognizes that many of his items were born of "an element of unconsciousness, a lack of malice." What they reveal, however, is the extent to which black and white cultures have been isolated from each other throughout American history. "In the legally segregated society that we had in America for years, there was no real interaction between the races," explained Millner. "Individuals couldn't know each other as human beings. So a pattern of stereotyping developed, replacing real intercultural knowledge and communication. These stereotypes were reinforced by items like these." He points to the "Fine Old Dixie Recipe Book" and a sel of dish towels bearing illustrations of blacks in menial jobs. "These educate the majority culture about the limitations they can expect of Ihe black population," he says. Millner likes to look at his collection as a continuum that shows both improvement in public attitudes and some particularly stubborn images that time won't lay to rest He picks up an Aunt Jemima figurine. "This dates back to June of 1985," he says, straight-faced. By itself, the Aunt Jemima piece is relatively inoffensive, Millner admits. "But what emerges after you see piece after piece is the accumulation of a very narrow range of images." Millner's racist memorabilia don't come exclUSively from the fringes of Darrell Millner and his racist memorabilia Some of Millner's "favorites" among his collection - if there can be such a thing as a favorite racist item - are the menu, plate and match holder from Portland's own Coon-Chicken Inn. The popular Sandy Boulevard restaurant, which closed in 1947, featured a huge, smiling black face through which patrons stepped to enter the building. "The food was excellent," said Millner, "and there was always a line of people waiting to get in." And in talking to the white patrons and employees of the Coon-Chicken Inn, Millner has invariably heard the remark, 'We never thought at the time how this might make blacks feel.' It is important to be forgiving of the past, even such a recent past, Millner feels. "We can't judge earlier lime ~ i o d s by the reality of modern { "What emerges is the accumulation of a very narrow range of images. " American culture or from far away. The Runnin' Nigger Target is a contemporary artifact found in gun stores and living rooms throughout the Northwest, he said. And nothing could be more a part of the American mainstream than National G e o ~ r a p h k magazine, which in 1934 carried an ad (or GeneraJ Electric dishwashers shOWing a black female servant at a sink, smiling and'saying, "I'se sure got a good job now!" consciousness," he cautions. "Instead, it's our responsibility to examine our own period, to look at the things we do today that function in the same way as these earlier things." The depiction of blacks in the media - including television, films and advertising - is "healthier today than at any other time in U.S. history," Millner believes, both because of the participation of blacks at the production level and because of rising expectations of a more "sensitized" American public. But this is no reason to be complacent, adds Millner. Years of s t ~ r e o t y p i n g have, not s u r p r i s i n ~ l y , affected the way black people VICW themselves. "The internalization o( these negative images is more destructive to the minority population than anything the majority population feels," he says. "If I'm able to hit a few licks at this, I feel good." The hobby that started a decade ago for Millner, who says he has a predisposition for collecting, has gained momentum and continues to bring many "heart-warming" donations from the public. last summer, the director of public health in the city of New Orleans, Brabson lutz, read an Associated Press story about Millner and decided to donate his own similar collection, valued at $8-9.000, to PSU's Black Studies department. "I guess he selected us because of the way we try to use our material," said Millner. Viewing Millner's collection is a lot like watching a 25( movie in an "adult reading room." You're fascinated and can't wail to describe it to your friends, but at the same time you're sickened. The collector agrees, "It's very important that when you use this type of material, it's in an educational context. You have to be careful not to reinforce concepts instead of destroying them." Gazing at the familiar, much-handled pieces in his collection, Millner remarks with a sigh, "My feelings about this are naturally mixed. Some of the objects - and the material I cover in my black history classes, too - are personally painful to me. I have to study and immerse myself in some very bloody and violent elements of history," He sighs. "It can wear you down. But I feel it's necessary to pass this information down through the generations." And as the eerily similar faces are packed away in the boxes, Millner reflects on the challenge they pose to him. "In America we've had some victories and it's possible for a semi-middle-class professor - or student - to be insulated from racial realities. "What this collection does is act as a reality check for me. It's a constant reminder of what my mission has to be, what my responsibility is." (D.urell Millner, the head of PSU's BliKk Studies lJepal1ment since 1983, hils a Ph.D. in educdtion from the UnJV{!(slty of Oregon. fie h d ~ been.a member of the PSU faculty since /974 and hiJ5taught Afro-American Literature, Afro-Amedc,Jn HIstory, Oregon AfrQ-AIDef"ic,1n History, and Black Culture in American Cinenlil .) PSU Per5pective, FiJlI 1985/ page 3
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